


Untitled

by sophiewritesthings



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Gen, Loneliness, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Social Anxiety, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiewritesthings/pseuds/sophiewritesthings
Summary: No title. Just read.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story could be triggering so if the subjects of depression, panic attacks, suicide and things similar to that trigger you then don't continue reading.

He found her diary inside a drawer along with a bunch of her t-shirts. It's been almost two weeks since the funeral but this was the first time anyone entered Sam's room. 

He was now sitting on the edge of her bed holding the small spiral notebook and wondering what secrets it held. 

He still remembers the shock and surprise he felt when he came home from school and saw her unconscious on the bathroom floor, an empty bottle of pills and a crumbled paper page next to her. It took him a moment to comprehend the sight in front of him. Then he rushed towards her, fell on his knees and desperately tried to wake her up. But it was a lost cause. It was too late. She was already gone. 

He grabbed the crumbled page and smoothed the creases with his palm. There were two words written on it.  _I'm sorry._

His relationship with his sister was never great. They fought a lot and didn't talk much but he would have never thought she was going through something that drove her into this. She seemed fine most of the time. There were times that she acted a bit off but he thought she was just moody. He should have paid more attention, listened more, talked to her more... 

Sam. His little sister. She was dead. 

He couldn't help but blame himself a bit although he knew it was her choice. It could have been prevented but still, he can't blame himself for her decision.

He had a lot of questions and chances are that the answers to them are in her diary. He needs to know, he needs an explanation.

And with that, he opened it and started reading.


	2. 01

October 4th

Dear friend, 

School is hard. Not because of the classes or the homework. Those are difficult but manageable. The things that make school hard are the things that give me anxiety, make me nervous and make me wish I could be somewhere else. Even when I walk down the hallway, which is something simple, I feel like I'm out of place.

When I go home I'm always the one who's the most hungry. That's because I skip lunch at school. The crowd in the cafeteria is too overwhelming and I don't want to be the one kid who sits alone. What I do is go the girl's bathroom, enter one of the stalls, sit down on the toilet seat and pull out a book from my backpack and start reading until time passes. That's less nerve-wracking. 

But the reason I'm writing in here is because today I had my first panic attack in school. It wasn't nearly as bad or terrifying as my other ones but it was still a panic attack and those are never pleasant.

It was Tuesday and I had to do a presentation in class that day for English. I've been nervous about that since the teacher announced the assignment to us which was three weeks ago. The paper I had written didn't seem good enough, I wrote it very hastily and just wanted to be done with it. The fact that I would have to talk in front of the entire class didn't make things better. 

It was time. I walked to the front of the class, my paper in hand. My heart was beating rapidly and my palms were so sweaty I had to wipe them off on my jeans. I could feel everyone's eyes on me but I willed my eyes to stay glued on the paper. If I looked at every face staring at me I would lose it. After I cleared my throat, I began speaking. The rapidity of my heart beat didn't lessen. My palms were sweaty once again but I didn't want to wipe them on my jeans again. What if someone noticed and realised how unsettled I was? I tried taking steady breaths to soothe my mind but instead, my breaths were sharp and short. I paused my reading and swallowed. I didn't feel good. The paper in front of me was moving as if it was being shaken and I realised my hands were trembling. Then a voice from my right, the teacher, spoke to me asking if I was okay. I didn't get to answer. My legs gave out and everything was already dark before my body tumbled down on the floor. 

When I woke up I was lying down on a bed that was similar to a hospital bed but I wasn't in a hospital. I looked around. I was in the nurse's room. I saw the nurse approaching me. She told me that I had had a panic attack and passed out. She then asked me if I had experienced something similar before. I lied and said no. She didn't look convinced but she didn't push any further and simply suggested that I could visit the school's counselor if I wanted, just in case. I didn't plan on doing that. The counselor wouldn't help it would be just a waste of my time. There's also the danger of my family finding out which is not a good idea. I don't want them involved with my issues. They're mine to deal with.

When I came home I wasn't able to stop thinking about what had happened today. Did everyone in class laugh when I fainted? Did they think I was weird? I tried to distract myself from all those thoughts by watching some TV. I ended up falling asleep on the couch for a few hours, I hadn't slept well last night. When I woke up I was still tired but managed to get up. My mom had come home from work and turns out the school called her and told her what had happened. She bombarded me with questions asking me if something was going on and if I needed to see a therapist. That made me a bit mad but I didn't dwell on it and simply said that I was fine and nothing was going on it was just a bad day. Thankfully I'm a good liar and she believed me. 

Right now it's 3 am and I'm sitting here with a flashlight, a pen and a notebook writing this instead of sleeping. Not that I would be able to do that even if I tried. Falling asleep at night was now added to my list of difficult tasks. The list was becoming longer and longer. 


	3. 02

December 25th

Dear friend, 

It's currently 5 am on Christmas day and even though I haven't left the house for days and haven't done anything that could possibly make me feel this way, I've never felt more tired. I can't think of any reason for that, it's simply random. 

When I woke up today, I couldn't bring myself to get up. It was like my limbs were pushed down on the bed by a force. I stayed there for a few more hours doing nothing until my mom burst into the room, yelling at me for still being in bed, calling me lazy and practically dragging me into the kitchen so I could do the dishes which I was supposed to do last night but forgot. 

I spent the rest of the day watching TV although there was nothing good on. But I didn't really care. I would have read a book but every time I tried I kept getting distracted and couldn't focus on the words in the page. 

Later when my brother came home from hanging out with his friends, we had a fight. Nothing unusual, I was wondering when our next fight would be. He wanted to "borrow" some money. I use quotation marks because every time he borrows something from me he never returns it which nullifies the concept of borrowing. I told him no and he immediately began yelling at me claiming that I never help him and things like that. Normally I would yell something back but this time all I told him was to fuck off. I didn't have the energy to do anything else. He stormed out of the house muttering a bunch of swear words aimed at me. 

When it was late I tried going to bed, ready for this day to be over but I couldn't sleep. I felt nothing but tiredness but my mind would not shut down. All of the sudden I started thinking about all the times I said or did something stupid and ended up embarrassing myself. All the things anxiety prevented me from doing. I went from feeling nothing to feeling everything. I can't explain what exactly was happening because I barely understood it myself. I felt the urge scream and cry and let everything out. And after hours of trying, that's what I did. 

I turned to my side, pulled the duvet up to my shoulders and wept silently. I tried stifling my sobs by burying my face in my pillow and clenching my fists. Tears kept streaming down my face until there were no more. 

When I was done I actually felt good, I felt relieved. Maybe all I needed to do to feel better was cry. Maybe after today, I'll start feeling better. Maybe I won't be as sad anymore and maybe I'll learn how to live with anxiety. I can't believe I'm saying this but for the first time...I have hope.


	4. 03

May 23rd

Dear friend,

It's been a while since I wrote something in here. Not because I was getting better or anything but because I've been too tired to do anything and my brain was too chaotic to form all my thoughts into words. These past months, this past year actually, were rough. But it's easy to say that this past week, in particular, was by far the worst. 

Monday, surprisingly, started well. I wasn't anxious or sad or anything. On the contrary, I was hopeful. I thought that I could actually make it, learn how to control this roller-coaster of feelings called brain and be happy. 

Did that hopefulness last? Of course not. It was stupid of me to think it would. In life, there are both good and bad moments. And we need both. We need the good moments because clearly, they make us happy, they give us purpose. But if someone is constantly happy then they begin to lose gratitude, which is why we need the bad moments. To make us appreciate the good moments and teach us things about life and ourselves in the process. There needs to be a balance between the two. In my case though, that balance had started wavering. The bad moments outnumbered the good ones and I didn't know how long I could last like that.

During sixth period that day was when everything started going downhill. Instead of teaching the class, my teacher sat down on her desk and let us talk quietly to each other while she read a book. Don't get me wrong I liked that I didn't have to listen to her blabbering about some random shit I wouldn't even remember by the end of the day, but since the only friend I had decided she would rather talk to her friends, I had to sit alone in silence with nothing to distract me and a million thoughts rushing through my head.

That's when loneliness kicked in. Everyone in my class had their own group of friends and seeing them all together, laughing and having fun filled me with envy.

I was staring at something I could never have. I can barely talk to people let alone let alone have a group of friends. 

I already knew that but for some reason, it hit me extra hard that day.

When I came home, I was actually fine for a few hours. Not great but not terrible either. I was just glad that the day was over.

But later in the day, out of nowhere, I started crying. I don't remember there being a specific reason or trigger, it just happened. My chest felt heavy and I was completely numb as if someone had sucked all the energy and life out of me. It had been a while since I had one of those days. It was about time I had one again.

All I wanted was to break down. Like really break down with tears streaming down my face while I'm grasping for air. That normally helps ease the heaviness. But all I could manage was to remain laying down in bed staring up at the ceiling, a few tears escaping occasionally, and wishing I wasn't there at all. Wishing I could disappear.


	5. 04

July 14th

Dear friend,

My mom's car broke down today. Normally that wouldn't bother me since I never leave the house but today I had to go to the dentist. We had to take that bus which even the thought of doing made me anxious because obviously, buses have people in them. Lots of people. And I'm not very good with people.

Throughout the day I felt something that I could only describe as constant panic. Imagine it like the beginning of a panic attack but without having an actual panic attack. 

We reached the bus station, waited until the bus arrived, got on the bus and when we sat down I started doing something that had become second nature to me by now. I started thinking. 

I was thinking that when I grow up I'll have to do all those things that I'm terrified of doing now. Like being around people, talking to people, going outside and all other things grown-ups are supposed to do. I'll have to do these things whether I like it or not that's how life works. There's no escape. But the thing is...I can't. I just can't do it. I can't be independent. Real life and the real world are basically a horror movie to me. Nobody has taught me how to live out there so how am I supposed to do it in a few years when high school is over? Anxiety will always get the best of me. 

Sometimes I feel like I won't make it past 18. That I'm gonna reach a point when things will get too much for me and I'll end this, my life, so I won't have to deal with the real world and end up unhappy for the rest of my life. I'm a coward for thinking that way I know. And if I tell this to anyone they'll probably think I'm overreacting and they'll tell me there are worse problems in the world. I know there are but I can't do anything about them. 

I'll be starting 11th grade in about two months. My mom keeps telling me that this year will be different and that since I'm going to a new school I'm gonna make new friends and won't be alone again. Deep down I want to believe that but I know it's just bullshit. I have a talent of repelling people so no I won't make any new friends and I'm still gonna be alone. I'm used to it by now.


	6. 05

September 1st

Dear friend,

I'm done. I can't do this anymore. Everything's too much, I don't remember what it's like to be worry-free. I don't remember the last time I truly smiled. I don't remember the last time I woke up and looked forward to the rest of the day. I don't remember the last time I was happy. 

People say keep fighting but I'm too fucking exhausted. I just want it to stop, I want everything to stop. I'm sick of crying, I'm sick of feeling nothing and feeling like nothing, I'm sick of being scared all the time, I'm sick of all those fucking panic attacks, I'm sick of being myself. 

If anyone finds this I guess it could be considered as a suicide note. 

My mom dropped Adam and I at school a few hours ago before she went to work. But I came back so I can do this without the fear of someone finding me too soon.

To whoever's reading this...I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry I didn't fight longer. I've been feeling like shit for years and as time went by things got worse and worse. I don't think I have the courage to stay alive any longer. 

I admire people who learn how to control their anxiety and live with it. I admire the people who get over depression. I admire everyone who battles mental health issues and makes it. But I'm not one of them. I'm weak or I've been strong for too long. Either way, this is it for me. This is the end. And I'm not sad about it.

I don't know what happens after death but it's probably better than this. 

I wish I could live...but I don't have the guts to so...Goodbye.


End file.
